


Persistence

by Terminallydepraved



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Flirting, Heavy Petting, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Propositions, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13192584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: It began in much the way Lucio always was: loudly, and with great insistence.





	Persistence

**Author's Note:**

> finally finished the fic i had in mind as a sort of background set up for And to the Victor Goes fic. i hope you guys enjoy it!

It began in much the way Lucio always was: loudly, and with great insistence.

“Thraish!” the Count called out, tearing the witch from his study. “There you are. Hiding from me, are you?”

Thraish looked up from his book, smothering his sigh with a smile he wasn’t quite sure felt genuine. The Count stood just at the entrance to the library, paying no heed to the other patrons studying within, or the looks he was attracting. And he was attracting looks. How could he not? Dressed as he was in his ermine and silks, his appearance styled as laboriously as if he were in wait for a gala, he looked as impressive as his portraits, if perhaps harder to ignore. 

At times like these, it was a bit hard to believe he was afflicted with any sort of illness besides vanity. 

“I wouldn’t dream of hiding from your Lordship,” Thraish said, marking his place in the book he already knew he wouldn’t be finishing any time soon. Lucio was steadily approaching, the decisive click of his heels against the stone floor echoing like cracks of thunder. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I should say so,” the Count said, brow raised as if Thraish already knew what he sought and was being coy by asking anyway. “It’s rather rude of you to make me hunt you down like this, you know.”

Thraish could count the number of times he had been alone with the Count on one hand. Lucio wasn’t in the habit of associating with those invited to the palace for the search for the cure. At least, not willingly from what Thraish had paid witness to. He preferred to let Nadia take care of the riff raff, and to see him here, in the library at the height of studying hours– well, suffice to say Thraish was confused and intrigued in equal measure.  

But, unfortunately for the Count, confused and intrigued would only get him so far. Thraish wasn’t in the habit of entertaining nobility, be in it politeness or patience. He rolled his eyes and gave the Count an expectant look, shrugging lazily. “You’ll have to be more specific as to what you need of me, Milord,” he said, savoring the look of consternation taking root on Lucio’s handsome face. “Powerful as they say me to be, I have yet to master the skill of reading minds.”

A muscle twitched in Lucio’s jaw. He smiled through it, bending at the waist to put himself at eye level with Thraish. “You needn’t read my mind to know that I’ve sent numerous requests to have you for dinner, Thraish,” he recited, the blood red of his eyes more than piercing at this close a distance. “Why, I’ve just come from meeting with my servant who informed me that you’ve refused yet again. I had hoped that coming in person might…  _ entice  _ you to change your mind. I would certainly hate to dine alone tonight.”

Something in Thraish balked. His smile turned nervous, but his heart pounded with something like excitement. Or was it dread? The two had a tendency to mix in a bad way where Lucio was concerned, and that more than anything could prove hazardous to Thraish’s safety and sanity alike. “Really?” he stalled, tapping his fingers atop the book cover. It was true he had been refusing the invitations. Of course, he had thought them to be general invitations, ones extended to all in the palace. 

But they weren’t. The Count had asked him again and again to dine with him, and Thraish had refused him every time. 

Thraish cleared his throat. “Whatever for?”

Lucio had the audacity, or was it the snobbery? To laugh at Thraish for that question. “Whatever for? Surely even you witches eat?” he jested, leaning over the table too much like a predator to put Thraish at ease. “You’re working so hard for me. Wouldn’t it behoove me to repay you with the privilege of dining at my private table?”

It might it Thraish knew Lucio to have offered this to any of the other scores of witches and doctors currently working much harder than Thraish right now. He shifted in his seat, biting his bottom lip as Lucio smiled winsomely. Winsome. It wasn’t a good look on Lucio. Or well, perhaps it was. Most looks looked good on Lucio. It wasn’t a  _ sincere _ look, though. In fact, it looked much the same as a beast might look whilst playing with something small and weak and ultimately dinner in the making. 

Perhaps that was why Lucio so longed to dine with him. 

Thraish swallowed at the thought, pushing it aside before the Count could see him sweat. Whatever this was, whatever the sudden fascination with him meant, Thraish knew better than to entertain it. Handsome as the Count might be, Thraish hardly needed to consult the cards to know how and why  _ that _ would be a bad idea. 

So, he tried for humor to defuse whatever situation in the making this was. He smiled, his cheeks aching a bit from disuse, and met the man’s eye. “Now, surely you jest, Milord,” Thraish said, smile going tight when Lucio merely came closer. “I’m certain your appetite would vanish in a flash should someone like me sit at your table. My manners are better suited for taverns than for the company of royalty.”

Lucio raised a brow in disbelief. His charming smile stayed put, or perhaps it grew in intensity? Thraish couldn’t quite tell. “You do yourself a disservice, saying such blatant falsehoods so easily.” The Count dipped down, resting his hands on the desk to bring their faces closer together. “Any meal shared with you could only be…  _ sublime. _ The dessert after, why, I can only imagine how sweet it might be.”

The words hung heavily in the air, and Thraish choked on something like understanding. Was… Was the Count trying to  _ court  _ him? Or, given the nature of the Count’s wording, was Lucio trying to proposition him?

Thraish wasn’t sure how to feel as realization hit him somewhere in the gut. Horrified? Flattered? Embarrassed that of all places, Lucio had decided to try this here, where everyone could hear and see Thraish scramble for something to say? He swallowed and shifted in his seat, overly aware of how terrible he must look after spending all day at this desk. Lucio grinned wider, resting his hip on the edge of the table. 

“So, really now. What do you say?” he asked, lifting his golden hand to toy with the messy end of Thraish’s slate grey braid. It always got so raggedy and disheveled after a day of nothing but frustrating dead ends, but Lucio hardly seemed to mind. He tugged gently and twirled it around his fingers errantly like a child at play. “I’d be most pleased if you’d say yes.”

And Thraish would be most pleased if any of this made an ounce of sense. Instead, he had to deal with it in the moment, with the Count playing with his hair as all of his peers watched from behind poorly propped up books. 

Clearing his throat, Thraish put on a smile. “What an honor it is to be invited by you in person,” he said, flushing despite himself when Lucio bent himself at the waist to kiss the loose braid in his hand. “But I really must decline as I did before. I’ve a lot of work to see to, Milord. I’m afraid your health depends on it.” And Thraish’s sanity as well, but that hardly needed vocalized. 

“Your presence would do my health more good than anything you might find in one of these dusty old books.” Lucio’s tone was jovial, but it held an edge that more than emphasized his displeasure. The hand holding Thraish’s braid tightened a bit. Thraish’s breath hitched, but he forced himself to work through it. 

“I really am sorry, Milord,” he said, carefully tugging his hair back over his shoulder where it belonged. “Perhaps another evening.” Or, Thraish added silently, perhaps never. 

Silent as it had been, Lucio read the unspoken words clearly. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a frown. He stared at Thraish for a moment as if hoping he might change his mind, but after a minute or so, his expression softened into a smile. For some reason, that more than anything worried Thraish. 

“Of course,” the Count recited demurely, bowing his head as he pulled away from the table and Thraish alike. “The work you do here is most important, because what could be more important than prioritizing my health and longevity? Stay here, then, Thraish. See to your work.” His smile held far too many teeth to read as benign. “I’ll be sure to call on you soon.”

Thraish managed to bob his head before Lucio snatched up his hand and kissed his knuckles, his blood red eyes laughing at whatever they saw on Thraish’s face. 

“Take care, witch,” he murmured, warmth breath a tease all its own. 

Before Thraish could manage to breathe, let alone speak, Lucio was turning on his heel. The Count left as quickly as he arrived, glaring all the while at the curious readers no doubt listening to every word. Thraish turned woodenly, lifting up his book as if able to go back to it easily after an interaction like that. It would be impossible, he knew, but there was no better way to avoid the eyes when they settled on him the moment Lucio left the library than to bury his face behind the book and pretend. If he had intended on keeping a low profile here, he could kiss that dream goodbye. 

Oh well, he thought, turning the page he hadn’t read. The cards had said he was due for something confusing today, and they always seemed to deliver in spades when he least expected them to deliver at all. 

The strange behavior didn’t end there, though by the time it presented itself again, Thraish had all but put the solitary incident from his mind. And why wouldn’t he have? There was a cure to find, tomes to consult, and other practitioners to argue with over the merits of this or that, the benefits of one herb over another. Thraish spent his days in a rush of activity, dodging questions of his credentials amidst intensifying pressure to generate results. 

The Count was in a mood, it seemed, and wouldn’t wait much longer for his cure. 

It was just a shame he seemed dead set on tearing Thraish from his work right as he felt onto something. 

He was pouring over his latest find in the library when Lucio came for him again. The late afternoon sun was steadily bleeding away, taking its light with it. Thraish read as quickly as he could, scanning the page for the idea just on the tip of his tongue. He had a feeling, a nagging little voice in the back of his head telling him he was nearing a breakthrough. All he had to do was follow it–

The door to the library banged open, startling the book right out of Thraish’s hands. It fumbled through the air, smacking him on the foot in the next instant. Thraish swore lustily and looked up just in time to see the Count in all his glory glaring at everyone in the library but Thraish.

“Out!” he shouted, jolting the other few doctors and magicians from their study. There was a split second of inactivity before they nearly sprinted out the door, unwilling to test the Count in one of his infamous tantrums. 

Thraish, however, knew not to follow them out. He sighed and leaned down to pick up the book, thumbing through it for the page he had lost just like the voice now gone from his mind. What was this about now? 

“For someone who professes to want a cure, you certainly don’t seem keen on providing an environment conducive to finding one,” Thrasih muttered, making sure it was loud enough for the Count to hear while he occupied himself with the book. 

Lucio laughed. “I want what I want, witch,” he said, still lingering by the door. “I’m not in the habit of waiting to get it.” 

Thraish heard the sound of a door closing, and on the wall in front of him, he saw the shadow of the Count grow larger as he approached.  _ Click click click  _ went his boots. Thraish held his breath, letting it out when large, heavy hands settled on his waist. He glanced down at the gold one. It glimmered dully in the waning light, strong and as unbreakable as anything. 

Slowly, he put the book back into its place. Something told him he wouldn’t be permitted to read while sharing the Count’s company. 

“And what did you want of me, Milord? Since you don’t seem to care about prioritizing your cure,” Thraish asked, cheeks flushing when he felt the Count’s warm breath ghost along the back of his neck. The flesh hand left his hip to brush aside his braid, Lucio’s grinning lips teasing the skin beneath. Thraish shivered despite himself. The question really was moot. The lips alone told him what the Count had come here to do.

“The same thing I always want, Thraish,” Lucio answered anyway, kissing the tip of Thraish’s ear. “To enjoy you the way only I could.”

This again… On most levels, Thraish knew. On others, on the ones where he tried to be optimistic and ignorant of the complexities this life thrust upon him, he had wished it to be anything else. He let out a sigh and covered the gold hand with his own, prying it gently from his hip so he could turn and face the man behind him. 

He immediately wanted to turn back around. Lucio was… unfortunately handsome. Woefully, even, and paired with his overwhelming confidence, Thraish felt entirely too weak for this sort of conversation. “I’ve told you before,” he said, bringing his hands to Lucio’s chest to keep him from backing him up against the bookshelf. “You’re ill, Milord, and I’m not here to tend to that part of you.”

Lucio raised an expressive brow, wrapping his hands around Thraish’s wrists to hold him in place. “But it would make me feel so much better,” he crooned, tugging Thraish’s hands away until they stood chest to chest. 

“B-Be that as it may…” Thraish tugged at his wrists only to find Lucio’s grip as absolute and unshakable as the man himself. “I think you’ve more proactive steps you could take if you wish to be conscientious of your health.”

Wrinkling his nose, the Count sneered. “You sound just like that damned doctor,” he complained, leaning closer, his warm breath near enough to tickle Thraish’s cheek. “Always berating me to lay down, to drink this, leech that; you’d think the man believed me an invalid.”

Thraish swallowed the urge to say that just because Lucio wasn’t one yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t progress to that state should he carry on the way he had been. The sickness came in stages, and the afflicted were prevalent enough for them to have an idea of how it affected a person. It manifested first in the eyes, bleeding the sclera red. After that came the exhaustion, the gauntness. Lucio had always been trim, by no means a bulky, over-large man, but even now Thraish could see that the gauntness was coming. Lucio’s cheeks were too sharp now, the shadows beneath his eyes a visible marker of the rest he wasn’t getting. 

“Don’t begrudge him his concern, or mine for that matter,” Thraish murmured, meeting Lucio’s gaze. “You’ve won a lot of fights with your persistence. Don’t think you’ll be able to oust your illness the same way.”

“Why, that almost sounded like a compliment,” Lucio said, brow raised, grin lascivious. “Coming from you, that was all but one. Do you think me strong? Brave? Do you think you’ll fall to my  _ persistence _ ?”

The hands on his wrists weren’t likely to budge, and Thraish found it hard to meet Lucio’s eye. He should have forced himself to do it anyway, since it merely proved Lucio’s accusations true. “I think I’ll fall to something,” he muttered, lifting his chin to stop hiding. “Whether or not it’ll be to you has yet to–”

Thraish never got to finish, since Lucio had already taken it upon himself to finish the thought for him. Over-warm lips covered Thraish’s, swallowing the words on his tongue. Rational thought vanished in a plume of smoke, leaving nothing behind but heat, embarrassment, and the pervading sense of doom that only came from kissing someone you really shouldn’t be kissing, and enjoying it all the same.

And it was hard to hate any part of it, Thraish found. Lucio kissed much as he lived: with intensity, showmanship, and a decided ferocity that overwhelmed just as much as it unbalanced. Thraish let out a muffled yelp, parting his lips in a grunt as his back met the shelf with a thump. The Count pressed deeper, pressing his advantage the moment he could. His thigh settled between Thraish’s legs, and his hands pinned Thraish’s on either side of his head. Thraish felt as immobile as a butterfly tacked to a board, and as hot as a forest fire caught in an updraft. 

He should turn away, he thought, closing his eyes to the kiss. He should push Lucio off, move, leave,  _ anything _ to stop things before it went where Lucio wanted so very much to take it. A needy sound filled the air, and with cloying shame, Thraish realized it had come from him. What was he doing? This was… All of this was just…

“L-Lucio, please,” Thraish gasped, tearing his mouth from the Count’s. He sagged against the wall, needing its support to stay upright. “We can’t.”

Lucio wouldn’t–  _ couldn’t  _ be deterred. With Thraish’s lips out of range, he settled for his throat instead, nipping and biting and sucking as hungrily as a beast still starving after a winter of nothing. “We can,” he growled, his grip on Thraish’s wrists tightening. “God, you’re so sweet. Would you like it if I made you mine? Sharing the bed of a Count, it’s such an  _ honor _ , isn’t it? And you’d be so good for me, I’d hazard. Obedient and skittish like you are now. Glorious laid out on my sheets, looking at me with those eyes of yours. The things I want to do to you.”

Thraish didn’t need to try hard to see what the future might hold should he let Lucio make good on those desires. They rolled unbidden behind his eyes, cycling through one by one, each more lewd than the last. Sweat collected in the small of Thraish’s back, and then on his brow. He had to bite his bottom lip to keep from groaning. It’d been so long since he’d been touched like this. Too long, really, to give him any sort of defense against a handsome Count and his talented mouth. 

He had to smile though. The smile turned into a short laugh, soft but loud enough to tear Lucio from his whispering and into meeting Thraish’s gaze. 

“What is it?” the Count asked, nearly demanded, his thigh pressing firmly between Thraish’s legs, rocking like a promise he was more than willing to give. “What’s got you laughing?”

Thraish rested his hand on the open sliver of skin exposed by Lucio’s partially buttoned shirt. It was only marginally easier to think like this. Lucio’s mouth was a good distraction, but when it wasn’t on his skin or whispering in his ear, its power was halved, just like that. “Just what you were saying,” Thraish answered when Lucio gave an impatient little grunt. The smile curling Thraish’s lips was growing. “How you think me to be. Obedient? Skittish? How you think I might be should I let you get your way.”

Lucio raised a brow, his frown a full-body expression. It just made Thraish laugh again, his forehead falling to the Count’s shoulder. 

“That you might think me some blushing virgin,” Thraish went on, snickering to the point of tears. He fisted his hands in Lucio’s shirt, overcome. He made himself look up, taking in Lucio’s unamused pout. “I’m sorry to ruin your fantasy, Milord, but I am anything but.”

If there was one thing Lucio hated, it was being made fun of. He bared his teeth and let out a low growl, pinning Thraish more firmly to the shelf. The rigid spines of yellowed books dug into Thraish’s spine, but it served as another reminder of where they were, and what they certainly shouldn’t be doing. “A virgin?” he repeated blandly, stifling Thraish’s laughter with a pointed move of his thigh. “You think I want a virgin in my bed? Some inexperienced doll afraid of me breaking them?”

Thraish shivered when Lucio laughed cruelly in his ear. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and for a moment he was glad Lucio stood so close. It meant the Count couldn’t see just how pervasive he truly was. 

“No, I don’t desire you a virgin, Thraish,” Lucio corrected. “I’d rather you  _ crave  _ me breaking you.”

This was too much. Entirely too much, and Thraish clenched his eyes shut and pushed Lucio away before he grew weak enough to want what the Count offered. There was no time for this. Thraish was here for a reason, and he’d been away from his studies for too long as it was. Far too long at any rate to entertain such bad ideas. 

“Imagination costs you nothing, Milord,” Thraish breathed, fumbling for the book behind his back. It wasn’t a good shield, but it served its purpose as he moved himself away from Lucio’s touch to rest his hand on the far door. It was so much colder now, and though Lucio’s hands didn’t chase him, the heat of their touch lingered yet. “But perhaps you should consider leaving it at that.”

Lucio crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, the unintended challenge wrought plainly in the jaunt of his jaw. “Oh, but I’m  _ persistent _ ,” he said, rolling the word like a filthy act on his tongue. “Cost means nothing to me.”

Thraish swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He opened the door and tried not to stumble on his way out. The burning red gaze followed him out, and if Thraish were the sort to be paranoid, for the rest of the day and night after. 

But it didn’t stop there. The thoughts, the temptation, and certainly not the chase– it didn’t end like Thraish intended. Lucio was fickle, but not about this. Thraish realized as much the next time he caught himself alone with the Count just a few days later, stopped in the hall on his way to the gardens.

He hadn’t been doing much, all things considered. Thraish’s presence at the palace was for a specific goal, a much needed service; a plague was ravaging the city. People were dying. But when up against an unknown disease, an unknowable foe, Thraish found it best to take things slow. Nothing good would come from bashing his head against the wall in frustration, or expending massive quantities of energy on spells that more than likely wouldn’t see success. He was considered a skilled practitioner, but only Thraish seemed to know the truth. Listening to the errant voices inside ones head had less to do with skill and more to do with luck than most wanted to consider. 

Someone in the palace may yet discover the cure; Thraish had no illusions that it might be him. 

So when Lucio found him, it was just as well. Thraish had just taken a step past the staircase that led upwards to the Count’s private wing. The dogs were absent as were any guards. The portraits alone paid witness to Thraish’s messy surprise. 

Well, the portraits and their subject, Thraish supposed.

“Just the witch I was looking for,” the ill Count said by way of greeting. His shiny golden hand was wrapped completely around Thraish’s bicep, holding him in place easily despite the fever heat coloring Lucio’s normally pale cheeks. He was finally beginning to show symptoms past his blood red eyes. The palace had been abuzz with worry, with fear of what might come next. 

Thraish swallowed, knowing what would come next for him. He knew, and he didn’t even need to consult the cards to know it. He put on a smile, one he hoped wouldn’t encourage Lucio’s particular brand of overwhelming. “What can I help you with, Milord?” he asked, unable to meet the Count’s eyes. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Lucio rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to grow tired of being asked that,” he said tersely. 

“It must bear repeating if I’m not the only one asking it,” Thraish murmured, but it came as no surprise when Lucio ignored him entirely. 

“I am very glad to stumble across you,” Lucio went on, gesturing at the empty hall despite the fact that he looked weaker than he had ever looked before. “You’re just the one I wanted to see.”

Thraish raised a brow. “I seem to be the recipient of most of your attention these days,” he said, earning himself a toothy grin. “What did you need of me? I must say that I was on my way to see to something myself, so–”

“Come,” Lucio ordered, lifting his hand for Thraish to take, cutting him off before he could finish saying his thin excuse. “I’ve a pressing need to see to that only you can help me with. Or would you prefer it that I wander around out of bed, exerting myself while I search for another?”

Thraish frowned. He knew what would await him if he followed. The past week was proof enough that this was merely an excuse to get him alone, to see him that much closer to Lucio’s bed. It would be in Thraish’s best interest to politely decline and be on his way. He could do it too; he could cite some excuse, or some pressing need awaiting him in some other part of the palace. If he wanted to, he could easily say no to the promises and intent lurking within Lucio’s vermillion eyes. 

Thraish swallowed, took the Count’s hand, and nodded his head. 

_ You’re such an idiot _ , a voice within sighed. Not the voice he normally listened to when staring at the tarot cards, or when he looked a problem in the eye and waited for the answer to come to him as it always did. No, this voice was nothing like that voice. This one was judgemental, pitying, and entirely sourced from the part of him with common sense in need of serious consideration. Perhaps someday he’d give it its due attention, but today was not that day.

Lucio held tight to his hand, keeping him from being able to go back on it either way.

They ascended the steps quickly, Lucio possessing vigor aplenty despite his pallid complexion. Thraish resolutely didn’t think about what he was walking into. Instead, he took in the part of the palace he had never had opportunity to see. Lucio’s wing was as impressive as the man himself as it rightly should have been given the walls of the hallway they walked were veritably plastered with portraits of the Count. Regalia, uniform, and smile perfect, Lucio stood as strong as he had the day he became Count of Vesuvia. 

Looking up at Lucio now, Thraish had to swallow. Compared to the portraits, Lucio’s progressing sickliness was only brought to even starker relief. 

Just as he opened his mouth to make an excuse on why he needed to go, Lucio stopped in front of an ornate door. The look he shot Thraish out of the corner of his eye dried up the words on Thraish’s tongue. 

“After you,” the Count said, opening the door and gesturing Thraish inside. 

At least he had the excuse of curiosity as to why he went along with all of this. Thraish bit his lip and gaped a little at the interior of Lucio’s private bedroom, because of course this was the door to his bedroom. It was just as ostentatious as Thraish might have imagined it to be if he ever let himself think about Lucio’s bedroom. The walls were a vibrant red, and the space was dominated by an enormous bed that boasted a canopy. Portraits littered the walls even here. Thraish began to sweat under the scrutiny of more red eyes. 

He took a few more steps inside, hearing the door close behind him. “What did you need me for?” he asked quietly, wrapping his arms around himself as he waited for the inevitable to come. The bed was unmade, so at least Lucio had been resting some before he got it in his head to seek him out. 

“Just to talk,” came the low reply, far closer than Thraish expected it to be to his ear. He turned around and found Lucio only inches away, the heat of his fever burning the air between them. The Count smiled at him hungrily, resting his hand on Thraish’s chest. “You look so nervous,” he teased. “Why so nervous with me?”

“I’m… not nervous,” Thraish said, taking an instinctive step back when Lucio inched closer. 

“Good,” he replied, and it served as the only warning Thraish got as the hand on his chest pushed him back. 

Thraish tumbled onto the bed, too shocked to spring back up and far too weak to do much more than stare as Lucio cast off his shirt. His face burned, and try as he might, he couldn’t turn away from the sight of the Count’s strong chest. Realistically Thraish had known that Lucio was built, that he was quite the specimen. The paintings on the walls proclaimed it freely enough, and even Thraish knew that Lucio was far too vain to ever let a portrait be painted without him as the sitting model, but… seeing it in person, seeing it on display with the intent for him alone…

Thraish swallowed, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was a bad idea, and that he was a colossal idiot. 

It was just too bad that Lucio was already there, climbing into the bed with eyes that burned like rubies. 

“I thought you wanted to talk,” Thraish rushed to say, forcing himself to look at anything but the Count’s bare skin. He urged himself to move, to get out of the bed, to leave, but… but he was weak. The mattress dipped; the silk sheets whispered. “This isn’t… I doubt we need to sit so close to talk, Milord.”

A firm wall of heat pressed itself along the line of Thraish’s spine. “We don’t need much in this life, Thraish,” the Count crooned, “but want? Oh, want is such a different beast entirely.” Lucio was good at this. Exceedingly good. His smile burned against the crook of Thraish’s neck, his hand even hotter as it stroked a path along his thigh. “Isn’t this better, though?” he asked, taking one of Thraish’s dangling earrings between his teeth to tug. “Bed rest for the sick, yes?”

“You’re in bed, but what you want isn’t restful,” Thraish whispered, shying away from Lucio’s lips. He lifted his hand to push Lucio away, but when his fingers hesitated an inch from bare skin, Lucio took him by the wrist and closed the distance for him. Cheeks burning, Thraish met the Count’s eyes. “You can’t just  _ have  _ me, Milord.”

The grin that answered him was ravenous. “I can’t?” the Count purred, pressing closer, so much closer, matching every inch as Thraish tried to edge away. “And why not?”

“For a lot of reasons,” Thraish began, looking off towards the wall, the portraits, the fancy trappings of a room meant only for nobility. Lucio toyed with his braid, brushing it aside to nuzzle his neck. “You’re sick, though you don’t seem to care about that fact, and you’re married.” As he spoke, the golden hand stroked along his arm, squeezing and fondling, tugging at his shaw as if conspiring to bare him with a few well-timed passes. “I know you and Nadia don’t get on well, but that has to mean something still…” 

Thraish went stiff when Lucio sealed his lips to a sliver of newly bared skin, pinching with his teeth in a way that would definitely leave a mark on his neck if he didn’t end this now. He shivered, cheeks flushing, heart pounding. He turned, taking Lucio’s wrists in his hands, holding them away from his body. The Count smirked at his efforts and simply leaned closer, giving Thraish his hands for the moment.

“I’ve never felt better in my life,” Lucio murmured, breath hot and humid as he worked his way higher, lapping at Thraish’s ear. “And why worry about my marriage? It doesn’t bother me, and it’s not as if you’re taken.”

Lucio drew even closer. His gaze was piercing, victorious. 

“You aren’t taken, are you?”

There was no need to answer when Lucio already knew the truth. 

For the second time that day, Thraish found himself pinned by the Count. This time, it felt a bit more dangerous with the addition of the bed beneath him, and though they were of a similar height, Thraish felt anything but big when Lucio settled on top of him, all naked skin and hungry intent. If anything, he felt an inch tall. He just wished he could lie convincingly enough to believe it when he told himself he hated it. 

Thankfully, if he could even be thankful for anything at this point, Lucio didn’t bother giving him time to lie at all. Thraish’s eyes went wide when another kiss was stolen from him, the Count as decisive as he ever was. His firm, muscled body rolled against Thraish’s front with unmistakable intent, his hands breaking the grip holding him in place easily. Lucio had been a soldier, once upon a time. It showed in how easy he made all of this look. With a grip as strong as the metal of his prosthetic arm, he locked his fingers around Thraish’s wrists in a maneuver that was beginning to feel familiar. 

Perhaps Thraish should be thankful that Lucio seemed to know what he wanted without hearing Thraish say it, because he welcomed the kiss for the excuse it gave him to give in. Lucio made it deep and Thraish accepted it greedily, going limp beneath the body holding him in place. Gods, Lucio was good at this. Even sick, even afflicted with a plague with no foreseeable cure, he still devastated as if on the field of battle. 

It would… It would be so easy to give in to it and surrender to the one who held him. Thraish shivered at the thought, at the utter temptation before him, and he wondered if he wasn’t strong-willed, if he wasn’t just a weak, pleasure-seeking creature made wanton by a handsome Count. Who could blame him if he gave in? Who would fare better?

Lucio smiled against Thraish’s lips as if he knew, and Thraish whined deep in his throat, ashamed of himself for wanting more. How long had it been since he’d last been this close to another? How long since he last  _ wanted  _ someone this much? Thraish couldn’t even remember. He couldn’t remember, and that more than anything made him invite the Count deeper. 

To his surprise and dismay, Lucio only humored him for a moment more. He broke the kiss but stayed close, growling lowly in Thraish’s ear. “Just look at you whimper,” he teased, eyes narrowed as he took in the picture Thraish made in his bed. “You look just as good as I knew you would.”

Thraish closed his eyes, turning his face away in a pointless bid to hide. “Don’t gloat,” he breathed, voice so weak. 

“But I must,” Lucio purred, kissing him again. He pulled back, grinning when Thraish chased his lips. “You’re finally mine.”

The way he said it, so confident and sure, made something in Thraish lock up like a gear in winter. He avoided the next kiss by turning his head, letting Lucio content himself with his cheek instead. “I-It’s not… It’s–” He closed his eyes tightly, tugging at his wrists in hopes of taking back some measure of control. “Let go of me, Lucio,” he said, meeting the Count’s gaze. “We… We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“What?” Lucio demanded, eyes narrowed, lips still flushed and slick with their shared saliva. “What is it? What could keep you from wanting me the way I want you?”

Nothing. Nothing was keeping Thraish from that, but from acting on it… There was so much between them. Too much to traverse so haphazardly, and far too much to disregard for just a moment of fervent instinct. He met Lucio’s burning red gaze carefully, shuddering out a breath. “It’s not the time for this,” he heard himself say. “It’s not the time for us.”

Lucio’s lips curled into a frown. The grip he had on Thraish’s wrists tightened for a moment, and then loosened as he pushed himself away entirely. 

“I’m not in the habit of being rejected,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Thraish swallowed, wrapping his shawl around his shoulders tighter. “I’m sorry,” he managed, inching away until he reached the edge of the bed. “You should rest, Milord. Not tire yourself out with fantasies of me.”

There came a scoff behind him, and when Thraish looked back, he saw the Count glaring at the spot he had just vacated. “Not likely, witch,” he murmured, his gaze burning when he looked up. “Persistence is in my nature, after all.”

When Thraish swallowed again, his mouth tasted of Lucio. He tore his eyes away and forced himself to his feet before he did something even more stupid than coming here. 

That persistence might prove dangerous for them both, that voice in his head whispered. 

Even so… Even knowing that… Thraish steeled himself, knowing that even if he wanted to turn back, now was not the time for it. He’d come to this place for a reason. He had work to do, a cure to find. A cure for Lucio, and a cure for the kingdom. Perhaps once those were found, Thraish would find the cure for the pit forming in his stomach too. 

“I want you, Thraish,” Lucio called out behind him. “And I always get what I want.”

Thraish paused at the door. He bit his lip. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. 

They had time. They would have all the time for that later, after the cure had been found and everything went back to normal. Thraish repeated it in his head, cold comfort in the wake of Lucio’s turned back, in the aftermath of the burning, stolen kisses and the lonely walk he had ahead of him back to the library. A shiver of something cut through him, and he made himself take the first steps away. 

“I know you will,” he answered, leaving it at that. 

Disquiet filled him, but it would pass. 

He just wished the voice in his head agreed. 

**Author's Note:**

> woot i think im done with lucio for a bit fic wise. i might do some asra next? not sure yet, but ive been really feeling asra lately. anywho, thank you for reading this! leave a comment if youd be so kind, and check me out on tumblr for my fandom works (terminallydepraved) and my original published works (tdcloud) if youd like to see more of my writing!
> 
> until next time~


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